I'm Not Gonna
by EiriTheBear
Summary: Cedric tells Harry a secret, and Harry in turn develops a crush. He told Harry not to expect so much in relationships, but Harry had grown up too needy for love to care, and just whings it. SLASH Cedric/Harry
1. Chapter 1: Hide It

**Chapter 1: Hide It**

To Jared, who I think I will always love.

HPCD

I was in the library that day. I skipped Transfigurations in favor of a Potions essay that I should've done last night, but didn't under the pretext that I felt sick. I didn't, of course, but with everything going on about the Ministry, Dumbledore and Umbridge, and Hermione and Ron feeling on edge about everything related to them and me, it took little effort to convince them.

I think I've found that balance in faking a sickness without making it look fake. I just make it look like I'm trying to hide it, and that it's not bothering me, and reverse psychology would take my friends' perceptions immediately.

But anyway, I was in the library. It was the Bubotuber section-Merlin knows why a whole shelf of books is reserved for them-and I took one of the books precariously perched on a shelf. It was a mistake I would regret later.

Books cascaded down, like the shelf was vomiting and emptying them on me. Of course, it wasn't at all icky like puke. They were rather painful on impact, though, and quite dusty. I was in between a groan of pain and a healthy sneeze when a hand grabbed my arm to fish me out of the pile.

"You alright, Potter?" he said.

It was Cedric Diggory. I've only ever heard of him in terms of Quidditch—I don't know much about Hufflepuffs, only those in my year. Justin, Ernest, and Susie, I think. And Henesy, or some other similar name. I don't care much for remembering names. But somehow his name didn't escape me.

"Diggory. Thanks," I said, as another sneeze catches up to me. He laughed.

"You're all dirtied up," he said, smiling. I stood on my own two feet and dusted myself. I could already feel the eyes of the other students on us. Cedric towered over me, and I couldn't help feeling dwarfed.

"Yes, well, for Potions, which I never thought I'd make much of an effort for," I said.

"I could say the same thing," he said, taking one of the books. It happened to be the one I was reaching for. "Read this one. If it's for Professor Snape's Potions essay, I remember writing the exact same thing two years ago and getting full marks with this book."

I wanted to say, 'Yes, I was actually reaching for that,' but I didn't want to make him sound like a know-it-all, even if in my head, he was kind of Hermione-ish in that aspect.

"Uhh, thanks," is all I said.

And then, as usual, whenever I was in the most unsettling of predicaments, Malfoy shows up, with a diatribe of carefully selected barbs for words.

"What's this, Potter? Seducing your next conquest?" he said, sneering in that way that I'm sure he thinks is devilishly attractive, but only manages to make him look like a monkey.

"I rather think that for the Boy-Who-Shits-Rainbows, you'd have much more … taste."

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" I smartly retort. Which, if you didn't notice, was me being lame and sarcastic about it.

"Oh, what's it to me, Potty?" he said, in a tone that I would rather not describe. (annoying, Holier-Than-Thou, whiny-shit sounding)

"Maybe the fact that you're parading your poufter self in public. It's simply disgusting."

First, like I would care what Malfoy thinks. Second, I was actually disappointed at how low Malfoy was going, without any intimidation and setting of grounds. He didn't start slow and prolonged anything this time, just went straight to the point. Shame.

"That's all you got, then? Trust an arrogant git like you to think that pointing something out is an insult."

I hear a brush of murmurs, and it gives me chills. True, I've never confirmed my sexuality to anyone, despite the many rumors which went around about my apparent homo-ness. I didn't give a flying fuck then, and I didn't give one at that moment.

"So you ARE a flaming fairy!" Malfoy said, cackling to himself. That earned him a few sympathetic laughs, and also a few glares that told of how insensitive he was.

I grabbed the book from Cedric, who by the way showed no sign to interrupt, but instead chose to observe our little altercation.

"Malfoy," I said as calmly and cheerfully as possible. "if there's one thing I know about being gay, it's that it takes one to know one."

And with that, I walked out of the library feeling smug.

HPCD

News spread. By dinner time, Hermione and Ron were hot on my heels.

"So, it's true then?" Ron said, spreading a shower of crumbs down his robes.

"Oh Ron—" Hermione reprimanded, both for spreading turkey bits on his robes because he talked while his mouth was full, and forgetting his tact and asking me a personal question.

"Yes," I said, eating a turkey leg.

Hermione looked at me, flabbergasted. "Yes?"

I nod, not wanting to be scolded myself for my lack of table manners.  
>"Wait, Harry—"Hermione said, looking at me quizzically, "you are answering the question which you think we're thinking, right? If you're thinking what we're thinking, then you confirm that yes, you are indeed, gay?"<p>

I grin. "Indeed."

Hermione huffed, and thrust a hand into the pocket of her robes, fishing out a few coins, and giving them to a satisfied Ron. It took the cogs in my brain a few seconds to keep up.

"You were betting…?"

They both nodded guiltily.

"On me being gay?"

They said nothing, and went back to their food. Their faces didn't mask their anxiety at being scolded.

"And what made you lose, Hermione?"

She glanced at me, then smoothly let a spoon shovel some Risotto into her mouth.

"I honestly thought you were having one of your darker months, Harry. You know, You-Know-Who, your favorite class being overtaken by a pretentious, evil amphibian, lack of contact with Sirius …"

She looked apologetic, and I can't blame her. It would be rather logical, I mused, for her to assume that I've been dismal. I can't blame her. I've been feeling down lately. Like, a bit gloomier than the usual gloom. I don't know why either, but I guess it's gotten to a point where people notice.

"I'm sorry," I said, "it must be troubling you guys."

"You don't have to apologize, Harry," Ron mouthed around his food, table manners aside once again. "Just remember that we're here for ya. And hey, you can always write to Snuffles. Isn't he writing back tonight?"

"Yeah …" I said, smiling suddenly. I've been having loads of fun writing back and forth with my godfather Sirius. He's about the only father figure I have around (I consider Dumbledore as grandfatherly) and the fact that he's gayer than even I was only made things more interesting.

Dinner after that was rather uneventful, except for one last question that came to mind.

"Hey Ron, what made you think Hermione was wrong with her bet?" I asked.

"Well, you kinda forgot to put your Silencing Charms one night Harry, and, err, I kinda heard you being pretty vocal about having Krum bugger you until your nuts explode—"

"Ronald!"

"Ron!"

After much embarrassment from Ron's comment, fueled by the Gryffindor's non-offensive laughter, we left the Great Hall for our dorms. Near the grand staircase, I saw Cedric catch my eye and I let Ron and Hermione go on without me, under the pretext that I left some notes back at dinner.

"Potter," he said, his one hand in his pocket, while his other clutched at the strap of his messenger bag.

"What's up?" I said. He looked at me confusedly, which makes me realize he must not be used to Muggle slang. "I mean, what is it?"

"Oh, err," he said, "thanks. Back there in the library. For defending my honor, or whatever that was."

"Um," I said. "I'm not really sure what you're thanking me for."

Cedric smiled. If the sun was high and it was morning, it could've been megawatt. Could've. I try to smother any ambitious thought that the straightest Quidditch player in the school was interested in me.

"Well, thanks for … hmm. Let me put it this way. You're the Boy-Who-Lived-"

"I am?" I said back, as a form of joke. He once again didn't catch it as one.

"Um, yes?" he said, in a confused tone that sounded somehow endearing. He shook his head back and forth. "And male or female, it's flattering that you didn't deny any form of attraction that you might have towards me, in front of Malfoy, of all people."

Err, what?

"Err, what?" I said, voicing my thoughts exactly. Don't tell me he's an egotistic bastard like Malfoy is.

He looks at me with a straight face for a second before bursting out in laughter.

"It's a joke, Potter. Learn to know when one's on you," he said, still chuckling at what I'm assuming was my comical, what-the-bloody-hell face.

"I could say the same thing," I retort. He really could take his own advice.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said sweetly. "Soo, where is this going, really?"

Cedric grinned again, and I find myself melting inside. He's quite handsome.

"I meant what I said when I thanked you for defending me," he said, running a hand through his hair in one smooth, habitual motion.

Well, alright, he's bloody good-looking.

"It's," I took a gulp of saliva, cause goodness knows it's about to pool out of my mouth as drool, "cool. Honestly. Malfoy's the biggest douche in this planet."

"I second that," he said, and he thrust his hand back in his pocket. "Well, see you around."

And he's off to wherever the badgers live. I stood there in the middle of the Great Hall, thinking, since when did Cedric Diggory turn out to be quite the catch?

HPCD


	2. Chapter 2: Think About It

**Chapter 2: Think About It**

HPCD

After some basic sleuthing, I managed to come up with a list of the most eligible male students in the school, and I'm surprised to see Cedric Diggory at the top. I'm even more surprised that I'm in the top five, along with Malfoy, this Roger guy from Ravenclaw, and Seamus. Seamus! I'll be damned.

I've never really noticed Cedric before, to be honest. I've only ever taken note of his extraordinary flying skills.

Whenever he's on a broom, I could never tell whether he was flying or gliding effortlessly through the wind. He's such a natural, especially at catching the Snitch.

Come to think of it, I've actually played with him a couple of times without really knowing it. All those Hufflepuff-Gryffindor games and not a single exchange of words or anything. It's quite sad, actually. Makes me think I'm not that engaging a conversationalist.

One of the other things I uncovered about Cedric was that he had an obsessive stalker in his midst. Colin Creevey. It was harmless, really, but the way Colin talked about Cedric, and the numerous, scandalous pictures of the Hufflepuff made me think that there might be something potentially illegal to it.

Throughout the week I've seen the small Gryffindor badger (haha, Hufflepuff joke) Cedric whenever their free times coincided. It was rather noble, how Cedric acted as considerate as possible in letting Colin know he's not interested, and quite bluntly straight, but I don't think polite and passive would cut it.

Aside from the Gryffindor creep, I've noticed that a lot of the female student population tended to throw themselves at his feet, and that he'd never given anyone the chance, under the alleged reason that he's looking for the right person.

Of course, the way he worded it, every other guy who's interested in him, along with the long line of girls waiting to kiss his footsteps, just made it even harder for him to get any peace.

Despite all that, Colin still managed to be the top offender, and it got to a point where I could see the irritation in Cedric's pleasantly fake smile whenever they interacted.

It's during lunch when I get chances to blatantly ogle him without anyone getting suspicious. Throughout the week I would sit facing the rest of the hall, close, but not quite, to the spot where Cedric and his year sat. Then, I would manipulate Hermione and Ron into sitting where my line of vision hits him, and then I would be set.

His hair isn't quite brown, yet not really blonde. It's a sort of caramel, woodsy color, and it's stylishly messy. Makes me envy him somewhat, since I can't really change my hair style, except maybe if I decide one day to be a cue ball. It's very effortlessly there, like the smallest of breezes would make its gentle waves cascade down to his face. I hate it.

His face seemed to be perfectly locked in a contemplative expression, like he's thinking hard about whatever it is he's currently looking at. His eyes are round and deep blue, too hard to stare at if they ever stare right back, and his nose is straight and perfectly shaped.

I don't know why, but whenever I watched him during lunch I seem less and less significant, and see him more as some sort of otherworldly creature. Sometimes I think he has some Veela in him, or some other magical folk blood, but that couldn't be the case.

And then, in class, I'd pay less attention to the lesson, and would often get scolded for not focusing. I found myself thinking whether Cedric was good at Defense Against the Dark Arts like he was in Quidditch, because then we'd have something in common.

I'd think about him snoozing at the side of the History classroom while Mr. Binns droned on about the goblin wars, or brewing a complicated Potion in the labs, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar of his school shirt unbuttoned at the very top.

That one I actually thought of during an actual Potions class, which was a bad idea. I actually apologized to my fellow Gryffindors for losing the house that many points in one class, just because of 'staring blankly and ineptly into space' as Snape put it. I promised to make up for it by reciting in other classes, but I find myself caring less and less about schoolwork, and more and more about Cedric.

The first thought that occurred to me was that I didn't want to be like Colin, whom I knew Cedric secretly despised. If I ever turned into such a nuisance I would flay myself. But then I realized that it was just a healthy, happy crush. There's no harm in having crushes. It's part of teenage-hood, or at least, that's what I hear from those girls in Gryffindor.

But then, I think, what the bloody hell led to this thing I have for Cedric? I mean, I'm sure it's nothing. He's never going to be interested in me. I think that's what's stopping me from pushing any of this further. He's gorgeous, yes, and quite fit. But I'm usually not that shallow.

I remember liking this guy from Ravenclaw because he seemed like he didn't give a flying fuck. He wasn't particularly handsome or funny, but the way he carried himself was so … so devil-may-cry, and he was devilishly smart and witty.

Come to think of it, Cedric's all of those things, but yes, I'm not going to delve on it, because I don't want to expect something that wouldn't, couldn't happen at all. And besides, Cedric's too nice and Hufflepuff-y to be compared to that guy.

Next week came, and soon, the first Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. I was hyperaware that I was going to be playing with Cedric during this match, and I didn't want to look like a bumbling idiot if he ever decides to engage in some Seeker wordplay. I was sincerely hoping he would be less douchey and immature with his remarks as compared to Malfoy, so that we could at least have a playful, harmless exchange.

It turns out that he's quite fun to talk to when he's in game. Both of us were distracted as we look for the Snitch, but I could tell he didn't want to stop talking to me, just as much as I didn't want to stop talking to him. It had been long since I'd talked to him in the Great Hall last time, and I kept berating myself for not doing so sooner.

"Nice weather, Potter," he said amicably, hovering weightlessly in heavy Quidditch gear. It's amazing how he could get that much speed, despite his tall figure. His eyes darted from one end of the field to another, looking for that same golden glint I was searching for.

"Yeahp," I said, breathless as always whenever I'm in the zone. We don't make eye contact at all. "Perfect for kicking some badger butt."

He laughed. "I was talking about how windy it is. Your hair's definitely caught the drift."

"Hey! I don't take it on your over-coiffed locks, Diggory!"

"Call me Cedric. It's a syllable less. And my 'over-coiffed locks' trumps your 'street urchin do' any day."

"As if! My hair could whoop your ass any day!"

He smiled, one of those dazzling, disarming ones which caught me off-guard. "We'll see about that," he said, and it took me three seconds to register that he had zoomed past me.

"And Diggory's got a lock on the Snitch!" cried Lee Jordan over the excited crowd. I swore a plethora of curse words that would make the Dark Lord proud, and darted after him in a flash. He was gaining speed at around the same rate as I was, and it was hard to reach him. The Snitch was not far ahead, and Cedric's face was glued to it in concentration. I didn't know why, but I somehow found the time to look at how beautiful his face was, all scrunched up in determination and focus, that I almost lose concentration.

Shaking myself out of my reverie, I shot for the Snitch with much more conviction. I closed the distance in, and a few side-darts from the Snitch and I manage to reach Cedric.

"Not gonna get it this time, Harry!" he said, laughter trailing behind him as he got ever closer to the Snitch. His calling me by my first name had caused me to stagger. His palm was inches away from the Snitch, and I lost all hope when he snatched it from the air like a hawk.

Not ten minutes from then and I'm in the Quidditch locker rooms, getting sympathetic pats on the back for not catching the Snitch this time. It was certainly big news that Harry Potter didn't push the Gryffindor team to victory, and I found it quite a blow to the gut. I don't mean to be boastful about it, but Quidditch was actually one of the few things I actually took pride in, and to have that glory taken away from me like that was, well, it just sucked.

As if I wasn't miserable enough, a couple of Slytherins passed by the small corridor outside the locker rooms, herded by Malfoy and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, chanting some inane, uninventive cheer about 'Potty' and the 'Gryffindorks'. Usually it doesn't bother me, so it came to me as a surprise when I took it as a serious blow.

I honestly wanted to cry. Screw what everyone thinks, or that stupid Gryffindor pride every Gryffindor's supposedly made of. I'm really a sore loser.

"Hey."

I look after a few seconds of trying to keep my composure in check, and then blink in surprise when I see Cedric. Both of us seemed to have not bothered getting out of our Quidditch outfits yet.

Cedric was grinning. Why wouldn't he be, anyway? He won the fucking Snitch from the Boy-Who-Lived.

"So," he started, but I cut him right off.

"Look, if you came here to gloat—"I started, but he went on.

"I didn't," he said, his grin going down to a gentle smile. "Nah, I'm just joking. I won."

I stared at him for a moment, trying my best not to glare because I actually like him and he's smiling at me, which isn't so bad.

"And?" I said, deadpanning. I really didn't want him in the same room as me right now. I was that close to hexing his balls off.

"Well, I wanted to make it up to you for letting me win," he said cheekily.

"What … I didn't let you win, Diggory, if anything you beat me fair and sq—"

"Harry, I'm gay."

HPCD


	3. Chapter 3: Stop Until I Get the Last Owl

**Chapter 3: Stop Until I Get The Last Owl**

After that brief exchange, in which I asked him incessantly whether he'd inhaled any Potions fumes after the match, and asked him over and over if he was pulling my leg, because I sure as hell wouldn't find it amusing if he was, he left immediately when the other Gryffindors returned from the showers. I was dumbstruck, and Ron and the others thought I was still not over my Quidditch loss.

That was my facial expression for the rest of the day, as it were. I stared at the communal shower tiles as I showered, at my various text books as I pretended to study in the library, when really I was thinking about how _unlikely _it is for Cedric to be gay. You'd think someone like him would be prim and proper, but that's not the case at all.

He's sloppy when it comes to food, takes terrible care of his belongings and has a general disposition of someone who just threw on whichever clothes were within reach every the morning. Cedric's … as straight as one could get, really, without it seeming posed or acted.

Which leads me to the next question: why would he tell me, of all people?

HPCD

The following night I excused myself from the common room after getting no work done. Hermione kept insisting that my essay on Bubotubers was inadequate, and I resolved to get it done up in the dormitories by myself, when in truth I was just lying on my bed, thinking. Ron chose not to come with me, for very obvious reasons; he was finally getting some alone time with Hermione.

I was thinking about the DA, and how long we could keep training without Umbridge catching us, when an owl swooped down and perched itself on a windowsill, casting a shadow across the room and obscuring the moonlight.

I walked towards it, and it clicked its beak towards me, hopping on one leg; its other leg had a small note tied to it. It looked at me pointedly.

Shrugging, I untied the note and went back to my bed to read it. The owl didn't budge—it just decided to preen the feathers under its wing.

_**Harry,**_

_**So I've told you my secret. What do you think? Use my owl, Brutus. He's pretty fast.**_

_**Cedric**_

I stared at the note, at first not believing that it was actually from him. I rolled out of bed and took a quill, some parchment notes, and an ink bottle, then proceeded to write him back.

_How do I know it's really you, Cedric? Or whoever you are._

A bit unsatisfied with my lazy scrawl, I rolled the piece of parchment up and got back to his supposed owl, Brutus, who was waiting for me patiently.

"Take this back to whoever sent the first letter, k?" I said, taking care not to tie the note too tightly. It chirped, and flew off. I went back to my bed and lied down, thinking about the Hufflepuff.

Not five minutes later, his owl arrived, looking like just how it did the first time—large yet attentive and patient. It stuck a new note tied to a leg out towards me.

Taking it a bit too eagerly, and cursing myself for being so excited, I read it.

_**We took the cup together last year. It was a portkey, and it transported us to a graveyard. You-Know-Who was there, or, some twisted, small version of him, being carried by one of his servants. You took an Avada Kedavra for me. Yet you survived, again. It was really amazing actually. Thank you for that. I owe you my life. You-Know-Who screamed, and his servant Disapparated along with him. We took the cup together, just as hooded figures arrived.**_

I remembered it like it was only last night. It was the day I lost my scar, and Dumbledore told me that my connection with the Dark Lord had vanished. Of course, information like that was privy only to me, Dumbledore, Hermione and Ron. And of course, Cedric, who was present in the scene at the time.

_Okay, so you ARE Cedric. I've never told anyone about the Avada Kedavra._

_What do I think? I find it pretty hard to believe. You can't be gay. You're too … not gay, if that makes any sense. I never would have guessed it, and I don't think anyone else would've, either._

_Do you mind me asking since when you found out for yourself?_

It went on like that throughout the night. Every three minutes or so, his owl—bless him for having tremendous stamina—would fly into our dormitory and stick a note out towards me.

_**I came to terms with it during my second year. It wasn't a big deal. I just didn't find girls attractive. Guys were less … emotionally invested, I guess. But that turned out to be a negative.**_

_**And you? I can't say I wasn't surprised to find out the Boy-Who-Lived likes other boys.**_

_Only last year, if you'd believe me. Someone opened my mind to newer horizons._

_**Oh? Are you saying what I think you're saying?**_

_If you were thinking about me and a certain Charlie Weasley hooking up during the summer, then you might have a bit of Trelawney blood in you._

I've never told anyone that Charlie and I had something two summers ago. It was rather disconcerting that I'm suddenly saying this to Cedric.

_**That doesn't make any sense. Seers 'see' into the future, not past events. And I wouldn't want that owl's blood in me anyway. So no, I would've never guessed. That's … kinky. And illegal, if I could just remind you.**_

_Well, he didn't take advantage of me in any way. It was a mutual thing. Have you seen him, Cedric? He's hot as fuck._

_**Well, I know that. He's a pretty famous seeker. Jumps from one national team to the other. Yes, he is hot as fuck, as you put it. But you ARE fifteen, Harry. Let's not forget about that.**_

_I know. And I hate that I'm a bit behind with age. People treat me like I'm a kid. You for example, just dangled that bit of information in front of me._

_**Sorry. I didn't know it bothered you that much. I'm just making sure you weren't hurt, or anything.**_

Heat rose up to my cheeks as I read that last sentence. Why am I such a bloody girl?

_I wasn't. But thanks for caring. We just fooled around. No emotional attachment was made. I wouldn't know what to do with one anyway._

_**So you've never had a boyfriend? That's another surprise.**_

_I'm not exactly dashing and debonair, am I? I need a growth spurt._

_**You're fine just the way you are. You could use a few inches on you, though. Ha ha.**_

What kind of cheesy line is 'you're fine just the way you are'? If I didn't know any better, I'd say Cedric was hitting on me.

_Shut up. I bet you've had tons of boyfriends._

_**Is that you pegging me for a whore?**_

_No, that's not what I meant. Sorry. It's just, you're not exactly bad looking …_

_**Oh, so you're saying that you're attracted to me?**_

_I'm saying that you're not bad to look at. You're an arrogant prick, you know that?_

_**I almost woke up my sleeping dorm mates laughing. Thanks? Once again, a real compliment coming from the mighty Boy-Who-Lived.**_

_Would you stop using that title? I don't like it very much. I didn't go during my first year shaking hands, saying "Hi, I'm Harry, you can call me BWL. That's short for Boy-Who-Lived"._

_**You're funny.**_

_And you're wasting parchment._

_**I'm not! I erase your notes and use them to send letters back. Don't you?**_

_Uhh, no? That's why your notes started decreasing in length. I thought we were just throwing caution to the wind and wasting parchment._

_**Tsk tsk. Savior of the Wizarding World, can't even recycle**__._

_Well, soooorry, little Miss Perfect._

_**Oddly enough, that didn't sound like an insult to me.**_

_You poufter._

_**Takes one to know one, like you said to Malfoy.**_

_So you agree? You think he's gay?_

_**He could be, but being a pureblood Slytherin, I bet he doesn't have the balls to actually tell his father that he can't produce little blonde shits like him. Ironic, since sperm comes from balls.**_

It's nice to know we share the same sentiments and thoughts regarding the matter.

_How … nice of you to inform me. You know, come to think of it, I never pegged you for a potty-mouth, either.  
><em>

**_._**

_? That's your curse combo? Pfft._

_**Whatever. I'm bored.**_

_Well, you never corrected me when I said you've had tons of boyfriends._

_**All right then, here's me correcting you. I've never had tons of boyfriends. I've had one.**_

_Had?_

_**We broke up last year. It was pretty ugly.**_

_Pretty ugly … like, the relationship was pretty ugly? He was pretty ugly?_

_**The break-up was. He's brilliant, to be honest. I just wasn't good enough for him.**_

_I don't know what to say._

_**You don't have to say anything.**_

_Sorry. It must have been hard._

_**I've gotten over it.**_

_Look, Cedric, if he broke up with you while you were still pretty much into him, then he must be a prick._

_**You'd think that, but I find myself thinking how it could've been my fault why he wasn't into me anymore. I think he fell out of it because I became a prefect and Quidditch captain.**_

_What does that have to do with anything?_

_**If you don't know already, it's kind of a secret that I'm into boys. So it was pretty hard to sneak around and meet with him to begin with. We had to keep things low. He wasn't really out and about with his sexuality either. So when NEWT classes started and I had Quidditch and prefect duties piling up on my schedule, that's when I lost a lot of time spent with him. I always, always thought it was my fault for being such a people pleaser when it came to my duties that I forgot to please the one person I loved the most.**_

_Wow. You must've been really into him._

_**I was.**_

I never thought it would get to a point when Cedric would be spilling secrets of his own, through a series of small notes that anyone could've intercepted. It was kind of sad, how every thing he said had that hint of sadness to it, so much so that I couldn't help but feel sympathetic, and a little bit teary-eyed.

_Sorry. I was thinking. You still there?_

_**No, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have told you those things.**_

_It's all right. You must've had that all pent up inside you._

_**I've never really talked to anyone about it. It's bringing back a lot of memories.**_

_Look, Cedric, since you'd told me who you are and everything, you can talk to me anytime. I'm not saying that if you did, I'd understand, and I'd offer advice, because Merlin knows I've never been through the stuff you've probably been through, but, you know … it's good to talk about things like these. If you leave those pent up for too long, it'll leave gaping holes inside you which are hard to get rid of._

_**Thanks, Harry. I'm glad I came clean to you about it. So, it's getting pretty late …**_

"_Tempus," _I cast, and the magic told me it was two-thirty p.m.

_Yeah, I didn't notice it was late. I'm getting tired._

_**Same here. Talk to you tomorrow?**_

_Yeah, sure. Good night, Cedric._

_**Good night, Harry.**_

HPCD

A/N: Hey guys! So this is I'm Not Gonna, and it would be centered on Harry and Cedric, and those people close to them. You like what you see? Review on it! I always consider any suggestions you give.


	4. Chapter 4: Help Him

**Chapter 4: Help Him … Or Not**

I barely got any sleep last night, trying to figure out who it was that Cedric previously dated, and thinking about how, I don't know, nice it was? How nice it was that Cedric trusted me enough by telling me private things he had pent up for a while.

I mean, I would admit that I'm not at all a good listener (granted that we exchanged words written in notes and not by actually talking to each other in length, but whatever) so I'm actually glad that I helped him, even if it was for a little bit.

"The DA's getting a lot of attention from the students, ain't it, Harry?" Ron said. We were in the Room of Requirement, and the DA's all over the place, practicing protection spells. Hermione was surrounded by a few Hufflepuffs who weren't quite getting the wand movements.

"Yeah," I said, idly. I was too focused on the Hufflepuffs' robes, the yellows reminding me of Cedric.

"Uhh, mate?" Ron queried, tapping me on the shoulder. I shake my head and look at him with wide eyes.

"You alright? You're kind of spacing out …" he said worriedly.

"Huh?" I said distractedly, and then I register what he was saying. "Oh! Naw, I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Was it the Bubotuber essay?"

"You know what, Ron? It was."

He was right. The DA has been getting a lot of attention, so much so that a lot more Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from the higher years have joined. Hermione spread this absolutely absurd rumor that I was a Defense prodigy.

Now I find myself busy these days, 'defending' myself from Ravenclaws in the hallways as they prepare their quills, writing down anything that I might say about the theoretical approach of Defense Against the Dark Arts, which, sad to say, isn't my forte. And no, before you ask, I don't have any fortes. Period.

I was in the library the next day, trying to get a grip on a very complicated Defense textbook.

"Uhh, I have a question," a tall Ravenclaw said, breaking my concentration. I sighed, looked up at him and gave him a withering look, just for him to know that I'm in know way happy that he was interrupting me.

"Yes, what would that be, Ravenclaw person?" I asked, and I realized that it was Roger Davies. He was one of those people that I subconsciously categorized under 'popular, pureblood, and untouchable by mortals', along with Cedric, Angelina Johnson, Fred, George and Cho Chang.

Interestingly, I heard (or overheard, seeing as they talk rather like high pitched bull horns) from Lavender and Parvati that Roger and Cho were an item in Ravenclaw at the moment. Makes me wonder if Cho knows or not that she dated a gay person before.

"Right, amusing," Davies said importantly, before sitting on the chair across mine, making me think that he wants eye contact for this question.

He was handsome, and rather fit. My mind idly wondered what he looked like under those robes, but then that wasn't really my mind thinking, but my other head.

"If your question is 'Is my staring at you starting to annoy you?', then the answer is yes," I said rather curtly.

He must have remembered his manners because his eyes were suddenly sharp and aware, and I couldn't help think how Ravenclaw he looked. He took out a pair of thin, wire-rimmed glasses and examined me with them.

"I apologize. I must be bothering you," he said politely.

"You kind of are," I said, in the same gracious tone.

"I'd like to pick your brain a bit."

"Pick away."

We sat there for ten minutes staring at each other, and I was sure by then he had realized I was glaring.

"You're gay."

I let an eyebrow rise. "So?"

And then he stared at me again, and I was sure he had noticed the vein on my temple, throbbing with the pressure of blood rushing to my heating head and face.

"Are we done here?" I said between gritted teeth.

He sent one last curious gaze at me, and then pushed his seat back to stand.

"Yes. Quite. Thank you," he said, and left the library.

I wanted to yell, 'thanks a lot for wasting twenty minutes of my time, you bloody wanker', but there were a lot of people in the library, and Madame Pince would hex my bits off.

HPCD

Weeks pass with only passing nods exchanged between Cedric and me. On every occasion I wanted to talk to him, but then my stomach would churn or my palms would sweat so much, and I'd back out.

He didn't seem too busy these days, just lounging about, or reading the occasional book or chatting with some of the other Hufflepuffs, so he was quite easy to approach. I don't know why I'm being such a coward about it. Maybe because he's kind of _the _Hufflepuff in this school. Or something.

But then the following Tuesday came. Tuesdays were kind of a day of relaxation for most of the students, caused by this mix-up with Snape and Professor McGonagall which threw off the Tuesday class schedules. What basically happened was that every house has patches in each year with only one class on Tuesdays.

Colin Creevey had a long free period on Tuesdays, where he would do miscellaneous activities such as photography and making collages, yet a huge part of that time was spent annoying Cedric, who only had one class before lunch.

I was in the courtyard with a bunch of Gryffindors, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Neville, and of course Hermione and Ron. Hermione thought it healthy for us to get some sun that day, and had made arrangements for a sunny afternoon picnic and tea time.

I was a bit paranoid that more Ravenclaws might jump me out in the open and drill me with questions that make my head hurt, so I brought my Invisibility Cloak with me for a quick getaway.

"Ron, would you _stop _eating your bagel that way? You might choke," Hermione reprimanded, looking at Ron with distaste. He was trying not to chew each huge bite more than twice.

"So did you hear about Ernie's bum?" Lavender started, in that unmistakable tone which suggested gossip was afoot. She was behind Parvati, braiding her hair into loose curls.

"What about the creepy bloke's arse?" Seamus said as he bit into an apple.

But I never got to hear what happened to Ernie's behind because that's when it happened.

Cedric came through from one of the arches that led to the Great Hall, evidently fuming, with Colin hot on his heels.

"Creevey, _please, _would you stop following me?" he said in an exasperated tone, "It's getting pretty tiring."

"But _Cedric_," he whined, and oh, how annoying a sound it was (I was at this point, beginning to cultivate this sort of severe dislike for the little shit). "You won't give me a straight answer!"

Cedric came to a halt and spun back, glaring fiercely at the smaller boy. "Look, Creevey, for the last time, I'm _not _going to pose for you in the showers wearing only a towel!"

Cedric blushed when he had realized he'd said that bit a little too loud, causing some of the students around them to whisper and laugh. It was nice when his cheeks colored like that …

"Is that straight enough an answer?" he said in a quieter voice, glaring on last time at the unfazed Colin, before turning and storming off.

"Oh, we'll see about that," Colin said, and he threw as spell that I didn't catch the name of right at Cedric. I was going to yell for him to duck, but at the moment I was the only one in the group paying attention to their interaction, and the two girls would get mad at me for not listening, though Merlin knows why I put those two daft gossips before Cedric at the time.

The spell hit Cedric in the back (curse me for improving Colin's aiming skills in the DA sessions) and he momentarily disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke. Cedric yelped, and people saw his messenger bag soar.

And then—

"Look everyone!" a random student cried. "Cedric Diggory's in his knickers!"

Of course, all of the students in the courtyard turned to look, not wishing to pass up a rare opportunity (I wouldn't). Everyone either laughed hilariously at Cedric's pink, skimpy boxers and at Cedric's humiliation, or catcalled and wolf-whistled at Cedric's glorious almost naked form.

I was giving my eyes a feast myself—I mean, really, the rumors don't disappoint at all. Cedric has got an amazing physique, a perfect balance of litheness and bulk, strong, broad shoulders and a great arse, a solid chest, narrow hips, and a very interesting trail of blonde hair starting from his belly button, disappearing into his boxers …

I shook myself out of a very embarrassing gawking reverie, before anyone noticed.

"Hermione!" I nudged her with my shoulder. "Do something!"

Hermione looked at me as I gestured to Cedric, who was frozen on the spot and trying to cover himself, and she gave me a questioning look, which to me translated as 'explain some things to me later'. She then took her wand out quickly and cast a Notice-Me-Not charm at Cedric.

Like magic (because it really was magic) everyone's heads suddenly turned to someone or something else that seemed to have distracted them, and I ran to Cedric, fishing out the Invisibility Cloak from my bag and throwing it over both of us.

"C'mon, Cedric, we have to go," I said to him, and his face was a picture of pure mortification.

"Cedric, _c'mon,_" I insisted, pulling at his arm. He seemed to be dazed as he let me pull him across the courtyard, grabbing his messenger bag from the ground as we went.

It was a few minutes later when we arrived at a room he specifically directed me to go to, and we entered.

It was the huge, well-lit place, tiled and tastefully designed bathroom where I brought the golden egg last year to. The Prefect's Bathroom was still as perfect and pristine as last time, and it made me feel as unprivileged as it did before, too.

"Why here?" I asked, and he was already in a closet-like room, rummaging through a few compartments. I sat down on a nearby stool and unabashedly ogled his arse as he bent down for a low drawer.

Minutes later and he was fully dressed again, and I sigh inwardly at not having to see his bare chest anymore.

"Harry, that was the single most embarrassing moment of my life," he muttered, looking down at the tiles as he went back to me.

"I've had it worse," I said flippantly.

"Is that supposed to help me?"

"No, I reckon it's not."

We stayed there staring at each other for a few seconds, waiting. And then—

"Look, you have to help me with this Creevey problem."

My eyes widened. "What? Why me? I'm too … busy, with other things."

Though I would help him in a heartbeat if he wanted it. But he didn't have to know that.

"Harry," he pleaded, "please? He's really getting on my nerves. My friends keep teasing me about him. It's driving me crazy!"

"So you're madly in love with him?"

"Of course not!" he yelled, albeit a tad too angrily. "Sorry … I'm not mad at you."

"Aww, you're not?" I teased. Merlin, he looked rather hot all frustrated.

"Look, would you help me or not? I need to find a way for him to not pester me so much." He looked desperate, and dare I admit it, hopelessly _cute,_ that I had to give in. But I didn't, of course, make it look like I did.

"Hmm, I guess … Meh, all right. Don't have anything better to do."

HPCD

**A/N: **Once again, please review! This is actually based on an experience of mine, so, I'm taking care not to fub this up.


	5. Chapter 5: Break

**Chapter Five: Break**

**Here is the next installment!**

HPCD

"Look, Harry, you're going to have to pay attention," Hermione said despairingly. I didn't pay her any mind as I stared at the Quidditch Pitch, until she hit me on the head with a roll of parchment.

"Ouch! Hey! I'm not paying you to give me brain damage!" I said, rubbing my head. We were in the common room, with tomes and parchments open around us.

"Well first, you're not paying me at all. And second, you're doing a pretty brilliant job of it on your own," Hermione said, annoyed.

"Look, I'm just a bit … distracted," I said, sighing. I realized that I missed seeing him today.

"If you just tell me what it is that's bothering you, then we wouldn't be wasting so much time," Hermione said. "And I'd be in the library, making another star chart …" she added to herself as an afterthought.

I thought I was failing Charms, one of my best subjects, so I asked Hermione to tutor me, and as compensation I would tell her what's been going on in my life so far.

"Creevey's such a little shite, isn't he?" I said distractedly, doodling on a piece of parchment. It took me a second to realize I was writing _his_ initials.

"What's that?" Hermione said suspiciously, but I was quick enough to stuff it down my pants before she could do anything.

"Harry, that was childish and inappropriate," was all she said, eyeing me like a boiling cauldron.

HPCD

_**Hey, what's "up"? You know my friends find it weird that I had been using that expression quite a lot.**_

_You're welcome for that. And I'm doing great._

I lied. I was the same miserable wreck as I was when term started. You'd think I wouldn't admit that to myself, but I've learned lately that the road to recovering from something involved a lot of screwing denial in the face. And what's brilliant about that was that as long as you don't deny anything to yourself, you can deny anything to the others all you want.

_I've been keeping Colin busy in the DA. I taught everyone a lot of spells today when Colin wasn't around for it, including this particular spell which required that minimal stress was being experienced by the caster. And thanks to Hermione implementing a 'learn-it-yourself' policy, he's forced to work on them on his own. I also told everyone that we wouldn't advance until everyone was at more or less the same level with each other, so everyone's been pressuring him to get on with it._

_**And the pressure's preventing him from learning the spell? I've never heard of a spell like that before. Clever, Harry. No wonder he's been bugging me a lot less these days.**_

_Once again, you're welcome._

_**Fine, thanks Harry. You've been a lot of help.**_

_That's more like it. You owe me._

_**All right. I'll do anything.**_

I will definitely take him on that offer. I could ask for so many things … ugh! Bad thoughts!

_How about joining the DA then?_

This proposition was flawed in many ways. Merlin, do I suck.

_**What? But that wouldn't be so helpful to our 'No Creevey' cause, would it?**_

Cedric wouldn't like any more time with Creevey than how much he was currently spending these days.

_Not quite … the different years are taught in different groups. I don't think you'll have any exposure._

_**Yeah but … I'm in seventh year. I know more spells than most of you combined. Plus I'm a Hogwarts champion.**_

_Oh, are we enumerating stuff we people credit as for? Well, I defeated a certain someone called Voldemort … Dunno if that's going to trump your 'seventh year' card …_

_**Git. Take me seriously.**_

_I am taking you seriously!_

If anything, I've never taken anyone more seriously in my life.

_We teach unconventional spells, too. Like the one I taught, which requires absolute psychological tranquility, as the book implied. What it does is similar to Legilimens, only it doesn't have to breach the mind, but rather the emotional pool of the soul. It'd all rather philosophical and shit, but it's deadly useful. You can also manipulate people's emotions with it._

_**That's quite a dangerous spell, Harry. You sure that's safe?**_

_It is, but it takes effort, or lack of it, to master. You have to be really calm and you can't force the magic. The theory is really confusing so I don't bother with it, but the meditation part's helping with my health …_

_**Health? What do you mean? Are you ok?**_

I imagined his care-worn face staring at me as I read the words, and warmth spread all over me.

_I'm fine. It's nothing. So what do you say? You gonna join?_

_**All right, I will. And maybe someday you'll tell me what's going on with you. You seem to be less … I don't know, animated? I used to see you talking over your friends or laughing in that nice way when I watch you … It's odd, like something bad happened to you and you're not telling anyone.**_

I don't know what I should be more surprised with: the fact that he watches me at all, like the same way I do when he's not looking, or that he's noticed that I'd been pining lately … ooor, how he finds my laughter 'nice'.

_It's seriously nothing. You don't have to be so noble about it and try to help._

_**I'm just trying to return the favor. You've honestly been a great help with my problems.**_

_I … well, all right. I'll tell you._

I took a deep breath, as if I was going to say the words to him face to face, then proceeded to write.

_I don't know how it developed, really, but I think I like somebody. It's a bloke, obviously, and he's a student in the higher years. We've been interacting a lot, and lately I find myself thinking less about everything else and more about him. He's … I don't know. I feel a lot of things. I feel like he's too good for me, because he excels in everything he does. I feel as if he's not that interested with me because we haven't really talked to each other much (I think our different social circles aid that). I also feel like I'm overreacting whenever he does something nice for me, or shares something nobody else knows about, like I'm honored or something._

_I really don't know. I'm confused. He's confusing me. I don't know if he wants to start anything with us or not._

I ended my letter there and sent it to him using his owl. It took a while for him to reply, and each second was filled with dread. A dozen scenarios of him finding out that I like him and his negative reactions to it flashed in my mind.

Fuck. Why did I have to tell him anything? Because he was asking for it, I answered to myself. And anything he asks for, you provide.

Finally, his owl swooped back into my room, as fit as ever, and handed me a letter. I took it and unfurled it tentatively.

_**Ah! I should've guessed. It makes a lot of sense now.**_

_**The same thing happened to me last year, with my ex. My friends noticed how I wasn't eating so much and that there was a decline in my essay and spells results.**_

Funny how my friends noticed the exact same thing he did. Oh wait …

_**I haven't told anyone about it, but it's the main reason we kept losing to Gryffindor, because I couldn't think about winning against his team.**_

So he's from the Gryffindor team …

_**If you're really not sure about him, then the best advice I could give you is to not expect anything from it. If anything happens between you two, then that's great. If not, then at least you didn't set yourself up only to be knocked down.**_

_That's strange. Hufflepuffs are usually so optimistic._

_**Ah, but that's one of the things that isn't so Hufflepuff about me. I think it's the reason why we don't excel as much. I've realized that being pessimistic about things in general actually builds character. And when it comes to relationships … let's just say that you move on with less baggage when you didn't pack so much to begin with.**_

I breathed a sigh I didn't know I was holding. He doesn't know, yet. It was relieving, but disappointing at the same time. At some point, I actually wanted him to make the connection. I guess he wasn't so keen on things after all.

_Thanks, Cedric. That means a lot. I think I'll take your advice._

_**That's good. Now I need to go to bed. We have early Quidditch practice tomorrow.**_

_All right. Good night, Cedric. And by the way, there's a DA meeting tomorrow at four. _

_**Oh, all right. I'll meet you at the fourth floor corridor after my last class. Good night, Harry. And thanks. For trusting me.**_

HPCD

I didn't get to meet Cedric that day, because Umbridge generously gave me detention for that afternoon. It was the blood quill again, and it etched at the same spot it did a few weeks ago, and weeks before that. I thought that the toad tinkered with it somehow, because it didn't merely make you bleed. It sent wracking pain through your arm with each stroke. But I didn't break. She could never make me.

She was incredibly daft for thinking the Dark Lord's gone. I admit it was stupid of me to speak out during DADA and land myself that detention. I hated having to be put through that torture without breaking face, then ending up crying as soon as I left. Even if it didn't give her the satisfaction, I still felt like I betrayed my own convictions by breaking.

Hermione was probably supervising the DA without me. It was already half past four, and I was supposed to head for Gryffindor tower, stemming my bleeding hand with my robes. I didn't want to worry Ron or Hermione by bringing them my freshly wounded hand.

"Harry?" a voice said, and for a second I thought it was a professor about to scold me, or Filch with Mrs. Norris, or maybe even one of those Ravenclaws who kept asking me about spells, but I didn't expect to find myself in the fourth floor corridor, facing Cedric.

"Cedric, I—"

"Are you all right?" he asked in alarm, and he was suddenly next to me, his eyes trained on the hand I was nursing.

"It's nothing, I just tripped and—"

"Harry, you've been crying. What happened? Who did this to you?"

Shut up, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to yell at him that he wasn't allowed to pour out so much caring or comforting words at me without any reason. But I was already emotionally drained for the day, and I didn't want to add something to my already growing list of problems. I didn't want to upset him.

"Cedric, it's four thirty. Your last class finished quite a while ago …"

"I waited," was all he said about it, "and stop avoiding the question. We need to get you to Madame Pomfrey."

"No, we don't. I just need to get to the common room," I said, wanting to get away from him for the first time since we really interacted.

"Harry," he said, in that same pleading tone he used to get me to help him with Colin Creevey.

"Harry, at least get me to the DA."

He waited thirty minutes for me. Well, maybe not for me but for the DA, but it didn't matter, because I found myself taking a detour towards the Room of Requirement anyway.

"Promise me you won't tell Ron or Hermione, or anyone for the matter, about this."

Cedric's silver eyes bore into me. "Just as long as they aren't self-inflicted."

"They're not! I swear."

"Fine. But you'll have to tell me where it came from."

"I don't _have _to, you know. I don't owe you anything."

"I know that. But I know about it, and I'd rather you have someone to talk about it other than yourself. Like you said, it's better to let it all out than keep it all pent up inside."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" It was a question that I preferred had stayed inside my head, but it jolted the both of us out of our stride, and we stared at each other.

Cedric chewed his lip, obviously at a loss for words. But when he eventually got there, his voice was firm and his eyes were deep.

"Because of a lot of things," he started. "You look horribly stressed these days, Harry. I don't think your friends are helping you at all. And I've seen you around, always being followed by students, or under a serious load of work that I don't remember being in when I was your year. It almost makes me feel guilty sometimes that I asked for your help with my Creevey problem, of all people, when you're getting it much worse."

He took my hand and led me. "I want to help you. Is that enough of a reason?"

I didn't answer him, and he never let go of my hand, nor looked back at me. I stopped the both of us when we reached that spot, and I thought about how I wanted to enter the Room of Requirement.

A door on the wall appeared in front of us, and he was surprised. It was my turn to pull him, and we entered the room, to the general surprise of the students in the room. I carefully tucked my hand into a pocket in my robes and kept it there, and Cedric glanced at me.

"I'll Owl you later."

HPCD

**I doubt you'll review for Harry and Cedric's sake. Don't bother. (Reverse psycholoshit)**


	6. Chapter 6: Love Him

**Chapter 6: :Love Him**

HPCD

I will myself to focus on the essays and the practical applications of the theories I learn in my classes, not letting my mind wander off, keeping it busy, because once it becomes idle, that's when thoughts of him, obsessive thoughts, I now realize, will plague me. It came to me one day that it was unhealthy, and rather creepy of me, to think of him so much all the time, letting my decisions be clouded over by his influence. The whole of Colin's year had been separated from the rest of the DA now, the result of my overeagerness to keep him away from Cedric.

Cedric's happy, at least, and intoxicatingly grateful, so much so that I find myself sorely tempted to take him up on his offers of making it up to me, in the most frighteningly adult ways possible.

So, I withraw from him, stop writing to him and replying to his owls. I can tell he wonders about this, but he's so caught up in the DA's whirlwind dynamic that he doesn't get a chance to ask me about it. I don't give him a chance either, because one word from him would surely send me careening back towards him. Despite my resolve, his presence lays on me like the unending pull of the Earth's gravity, and I feel like an albatross flying for miles, at the very end of its wits.

I say nightmares whenever Hermione and Ron ask me what's wrong. They seem sincerely worried, but the thought of Voldemort unconsciously giving me sadistic visions in my head makes them think about how futile it is to attempt anything to cheer me up. They accept my excuse, pat me on the back or hug me, and do nothing else. Just the way I prefer it. I'd rather no one knew of this strange infatuation of mine.

"Harry," he says, and I look up from the book I was reading, Hogwarts: A History. We were in the Room of Requirement, spending the afternoon learning about Defence, as usual. Everyone was resigned to the inevitable case that Umbridge would forever teach us nonsense that will surely kill us the moment a Death Eater draws his wand.

"Cedric," I say back, with equal casualness, looking at him in a lightly irritated way that tells him he's disturbing me. "What's up?"

"So, Goblin Rebellions," he says, "how's that going for you?" He buries his hands into the pockets of his school pants and plants his feet firmly, in a way that suggested he wasn't going anywhere. He looks at me charmingly, like I'm supposed to answer some jibe about Binns, or something equally funny or witty.

"Marduk the Murky has just secured the Southern Goblins' underground fortress, and the rebellion's coming through as planned," I say. Inside, I'm surprised at how cold I sounded. "Oh," he says, like that wasn't the right answer. I have been diligent in reviewing the Goblin Rebellions, because they're so tedious and painstaking to absorb and understand. Very distracting and time-consuming. I feel like I'm going to get an EE in my History OWLs now.

He perks up. "Harry, that one spell, the one which reveals a reccurring thought in a person's mind—I can't quite cast it right ..." he trails off, because then he expects me to jump at the opportunity to teach him. It takes me a while to respond, because I'm itching to say okay. I'm itching for the close proximity necessary to practice the spell. I'm itching for Cedric, which is bad.

"Davies over there is making quite a show of himself revealing everyone's dirty little secrets," I say, going back to my book. I let Roger Davies in a week ago, when he would not stop badgering me about protecting me from his fellow Ravenclaws. The DA proved to be a great distraction, and I got that stupid monkey off my back.

I was on the fourth line of the next page when he asks me, whispers, in such a guilt laden voice that I claw at myself from the inside.

"Did I do something wrong?"

My chest collapses, and I try to heave a breath, as steady and normal as possible. I refuse to let myself look at him in the eyes.

"Sorry," I say, and I know my voice shakes a bit, and I sound horribly tired yet earnest in saying that. "I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"It's honestly all right if you do," he says, and I glance at him. He's looking at me with such bright concern I go haywire for a second. "I owe you."

"No you don't," I say weakly. "Just leave me alone for a while," _and let me get over you._

He nods, and it's sickeningly sympathetic and understanding that I stare right back at my book and try not to burst into pathetic tears.

In the end, he does end up asking Roger for help with the Unthinkable Thoughts spell, and I'm left in my corner of the Room, wallowing in self-loathing and goblin shit.

Not another word passes between us for days, nothing but the occasional nod of acknowledgement towards each others' direction whenever we pass each other in the halls. My grades are better now, or so some of my professors tell me—except, of course Snape, who doesn't say anything at all positive about me—and faring well with dodging the usual defence questions and requests for more training. I get lost in a whirl of students as they juggle me, asking me which course of action is best to take in this situation or that altercation, whether I had considered being a teacher, whether I have come to terms with the possibility that I may die any day of the week, or worse, asking me if they would ever get the chance to tell that special person what they actually feel.

In that haze of preoccupancy, I catch word that Cedric Diggory had finally mustered the courage to ask Roger Davies on a date, and the controversial pair up had reached even the professors' ears. I go numb at the news, but face everyone with a slowly cracking solemn mask. I could only keep it up for so long before agony tries to consume me for good.

I never thought I would arrive at a point where I loved someone so much I was glad I let them go, because I was so much more of a burden than salvation. I find myself walking through the grounds early morning, listlessly trying to find something I don't have a fucking clue how to find. I realize, after the first try, how stupid self-mutilation is. There's no release. The pain you feel inside should seep out of the self-inflicted wound; that's supposedly what happens. But then, thinking it over, the physical pain is, and will only be, a manifestation of the physical wounds, not the emotional ones. Unless one can self-mutilate the soul itself, I find the act fruitless.

I think about ending me. But that's stupid, too. I might become a ghost out of the guilt of leaving the world to Voldemort's clutches. Death isn't even an escape anymore.

Then I think about getting a Dementor's Kiss, which will involve me committing such a heinous crime, worthy of it. I don't think I'm capable of doing anything of the sort.

It's all stupid. I'm being stupid. That's what it is. I was put in this world for one reason, and that's to defeat Voldemort. Nothing else. And, as the days pass, I keep telling that to myself, and my resolve strengthens. I do still have my bad days, coincidentally when I encounter Davies and Cedric together, but I'm coping. Rumor has it that those two are a bunch of wild sex kittens, doing it in the most risque and exhibitionist places. Colin's been talking about it nonstop in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone's creeped out, even me, who has a penchant for saying immoral things myself.

"Mate, if the nightmares are getting worse, maybe you should talk to Madam Pomfrey," Ron says one time at breakfast, looking at me in a way a doctor looks at a dying patient.

"Have you tried drinking dreamless sleep?" Hermione adds, her eyebrows furried in worry. She clucks at me to eat some more, and I do, to placate her. I don't answer her, though. I want to tell her, 'it's not nightmares, 'Mione, it's Cedric. I'm in love with him, and he's dating someone else. And it's my fault they're dating, too.'

Later, after dinner, I sit her in the common room, and tell her exactly that. I had gotten tired of keeping it in. Hermione was the first person who came to mind when I decided to tell someone about it.

She's shellshocked after that, barely saying anything. I think I broke her, which is bad news for me and Ron. How are we going to copy notes from her ever again?

"Merlin, Harry," she says, finally, and I'm surprised. She almost never says that. Ron must probably be rubbing of on her.

"Are you sure you're in love?" she asks, and I know immediately that she has turned analytic. I nod at her, gravely, pleading with her to do something, anything, even though I know she couldn't. I lay my head on her crossed legs and sniffle. Telling someone shakes me, and tears spring again. Merlin, I'm pathetic.

"Do you want me to help you do something about it?" she asks, and I realize that's the smartest question anyone in that position could ask.

I shake my head, which is still on her right thigh. She places her hand in my head and rubs the back of it smoothly. "No," I say, as if my shaking my head wasn't enough. "but thank you for not freaking out, or taking matters to your own hands. And—and listening, too."

She brings me up to a hug, and I practically bawl on her robes. Thank Merlin no one is here tonight.

HPCD

The following day my head fucking hurts. My eyes are puffy from crying myself to sleep, but I feel slightly better. Refreshed, even. I go to breakfast without a care. I'll eat, I'll study, I'll feed Ravenclaws with theory shit, I'll reassure Hufflepuffs, roll my eyes at sneering Slytherins, and not think about him.

Though he ruins all of those by suddenly pulling me and hugging me in an abandoned classroom. I shriek.

"What. Is. The matter with you?" I say, glaring at him.

Cedric shrugs, in that careless way that made me fall for him. "I missed you, 'sall. I haven't talked to you in two weeks!"

_Two weeks since they've been together._ "Well," I say, "I was busy," _crying over you, you piece of dragon dung_, "and you were busy." _snogging that Davies boy._

"I know," he says, as if that was reason enough. He seems to be glowing today, positively ravishing, and I keep thinking whether it's because he has a boyfriend now, or because I haven't talked to him in so long I've forgotten how he usually looks.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," he says, suddenly serious. "I haven't really set aside time for you. I know you're hurting because of that horrible person you like."

He hit the nail on head with that one. I snort, finding him calling himself horrible without him knowing it somewhat hilarious.

"No laughing," he says, looking at me in the eyes. His own brilliant copper ones take me aback for a moment. "Don't think for one second I didn't notice how positively shitty you looked these days."

"Gee, thanks," I say, "I'll try to be glowier like you next time."

"Look, you stopped writing, and I didn't notice for a while because of Roger, but then I saw you two days ago, looking liked a trapped animal that would rather keel over and die than be in its captor's clutches, and I knew I should've approached you a week before, and Merlin, Harry, you look liked an Inferi—"

"Cedric," I stop him, "you're rambling. I'm fine, now. I'm getting over it."

He stares at me for a second, not believing a word I just said. "Really?" he says, and I nod. I even offer him a small, convincing smile. There. That should alleviate any of his worries, though they, along with the rambling, are as endearing as ever.

He smiles, and looks at me in relief, then engulfs me in another vicegrip hug. I try not to associate any emotion with it, though it's a struggle. I've always wondered what it would be like to be in his arms, and here I am, smelling his heady scent, taking in his comforting warmth. I sigh. This might be the only time I'm ever going to get a chance to hug him.

"You're all right," he says to my ear, "of course you are. You were always so strong."

I then pull myself away from him and head towards breakfast, but he insists on telling me about Roger and how great and wonderful and awesome he is, not knowing that he's directly going against his intention of comforting me and tearing me to bits with each intimate story. I don't stop him, because how could I? I've never seen him this happy, this animated and engaged with telling me something. He's so mesmerizing, it's a wonder that there were still a few stragglers in the school who, no matter how much you pay them, would still hate Cedric Diggory.

We eat. It takes enormous effort not to match his word vomit with my actual vomit. Ron is clueless as to what's happening, except of course, to anything Hermione related. So he notices how Hermione is looking panicked at each word Cedric narrates to me, and this gives Hermione and I a sign to tell Ron the truth, lest he comes to the wrong conclusions.

"Blimey, Harry," he says, flummoxed. I stare at my toasty feet. We're inthe common room, after classes, and I had just told him—with a lot of goading from Hermione—what honestly was going on with my life.

I would think he would be repulsed by the confirmation of my homosexuality, so it comes as an immense surprise to me when he pulls me in for a fierce hug. Tears threaten to make an encore appearance, but I stamp the emotions down firmly back into my mind.

"Blimey, Harry," he says again, and if there was any doubt that Ron would be my best friend until we die, then it's gone now.

"If there's anything I could help you with, I dunno, setting you up with some blokes-I know some who rather prefer swordfights than deepsea diving, if you know what I mean—"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaims, whacking him at the back of the head.

"Ow! You madwoman!"

HPCD

The following day, I go through classes with more focus and vigor, thanks to the previous night, and I completely face Umbridge head on, yelling at her for her insanity and extreme ineptitude.

That afternoon in detention was the worst, yet. I wasn't aware she was sanctioned to use Unforgivables. Thanks to Cedric, I've cried out everything, and I never give her the satisfaction of seeing my tears.

I walk through the halls, or rather amble through it, my unwounded hand supporting my shaky body against a wall, my other, Blood Quilled hand tucked behind my robes, when, once again, who would run into me.

"Harry!" Cedric cries, and his alarm was telltale of my condition, which I might have misjudged as better off than it actually was. "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

He's angry. He has no fucking right to be raising his voice and glaring at my nerve-damaged body. He has no fucking right to mix gripping concern with such fury. And most of all, he has no fucking right to me, when he has a boyfriend, and I'm fucking in love with him.

"It's none of your business," I mutter, and the wall I was leaning on goes frigid with my magic.

"Fuck this," he snaps, and I've never heard him swear before. He must be really angry. I throw him a glare, and he fishes his wand out, and points it at me. "If you won't tell me who's done this to you ..."

"Psychium Revelio!" he does the complicated wand movements, and a flaring white light shoots from the tip of his wand and hits me. My eyes go wide as my thoughts are written in the air.

"He's angry. He has no fucking right to be raising his voice and glaring at my nerve-damaged body. He has no fucking right to mix gripping concern with such fury. And most of all, he has no fucking right to me, when he has a boyfriend, and I'm fucking in love with him." My head fills with haze, and I black out, a side effect of the spell when mixed with a Dark Curse, or remnants of it.

HPCD

**Notes:** Reviewwwww. Ahihi.


	7. Chapter 7: Hate Him

**Notes: Here it is! And this time ... Cedric POV!**

**Chapter 7: Hate Him**

I stand there, unblinking, staring at Harry's still form, while Madam Pomfrey explains to Professor McGonagall what happened. I feel like Headmaster Dumbledore should be here, but oddly enough he isn't. Madam Pomfrey narrates my rushing into the Infirmary, carrying an unconscious Harry, and how I said I cast the Unthinkable Thoughts curse at him, in the hopes of finding out who etched the wounds onto his hands, and who caused his frailty, and by Harry's words, the nerve damage.

She then explains the gravity of the situation. The curse makes a link to the mind, revealing thoughts of the target. As a side-effect, it magnifies any Dark curse the target has suffered from lately, and directs it towards the mind. She says something about a damaged Hippocampus, which I don't make sense of, and Professor McGonagall looks at Harry's form gravely.

They make a situation assessment, talking as if I'm not there. Someone had cast _Crucio_ on Harry. It was the only spell capable of causing damage and of being magnified into inducing a coma, when coupled with the Unthinkable Thoughts. I cough, then glare at the both of them. "Is Harry going to be okay?"

The two of them look at each other, like I'm some kid who will cry at the first hint of bad news. My gaze shifts from them to Harry. "Well?"

Madam Pomfrey shakes her head. "No, not for now."

"But he will be ok, right?" I ask, slowly. My head reels with the possibility of the Boy-Who-Lived not existing, and I immediately feel guilt rush through my body like iced water. I curse myself for having that thought in the forefront of my mind, that Harry was just a figurehead to a world clutching at every shred of hope they could get. Wasn't he more than that? Wasn't he a person, too, trying to get on with his life despite the many trials he faced? To the others, he was a weapon, a source of knowledge and comfort, a person to direct every frustration towards. I find myself resenting having thought of him that way, in one way or another, just now and many other times before.

"We'll make sure he returns," it was Professor McGonagall who said it, with such certainty that I was forced to believe it.

"But someone still out there had cursed Harry," I say, and they stare at me. I cursed Harry as well, and by the look in the professor's steely eyes, there will be repercussions.

"I might have an idea as to who that is," she says, her voice low and formidable. She leaves the Infirmary with determination on her back.

Madam Pomfrey instructs me to go back to the Hufflepuff Dormitories, and I nod in consent, asking her if I could inform his friends first. She nods, and I cast one last glance at Harry's direction before leaving the Infirmary.

Wasn't Harry a friend, too? All those little favors anyone asked for, he did, even though he was busy. He never once did deny anything from anyone, as long as he thought they deserved or needed whatever it is they asked.

_And he saved your life, and did you favors, and trusted you with his problems. It's because he loves you._

I stop midstep, standing on a flight of stairs. Harry loves me. I was the cause of his distress, back when we sent each other owls, and these few weeks when his friends had to stuff food into his mouth to get him to eat. It must've broken him somewhat, when I asked Roger for a date.

My heart stopped again. That one time, a few days ago, he saw me with Roger near the greenhouses, when Roger wanted a snog, and when I wanted to ask if Harry was okay. I made him wait, held my hand up as Roger thrust his tongue in my mouth, and Harry stared, and I didn't understand why he looked the way he did.

And he kept insisting he was okay when we walked back to the castle, but he couldn't look at me.

My brows furrow, and I ball my fists until they're numb against my sides. I'm so frustrated I find myself stomping, and that fuels my anger even more. Anger with myself, for doing this to Harry, casting that spell, that look he gave me right before he blacked out, that breach in trust that showed in his green eyes, right before the letters appeared above his head. He hated it when I showed him any concern. He thought I wasn't entitled to feel them for him, because he loves me, and I don't love him back.

I feel like I've used him. As a bucket to pour my secrets and frustrations in. As a safeguard from Colin. And just recently, a person to share my time with Roger. It must've eaten at him, each time I opened my mouth. Why didn't he stop me? Pretend that he didn't like all the gushy stuff we do, like any other person would?

I reach the portrait covering the alcove to the Gryffindor common room, and ask the Fat Lady if she could have someone call for Granger and Weasley. DA's over already, so they couldn't be anywhere else before dinner.

Until they come out, I try to imagine myself in Harry's shoes. If I loved him, and he gushed on about someone he's with, yes, I would have definitely felt horrible. But I guess I would've have listened, still, even if it hurt, because knowing what was happening between them was better than not knowing anything at all, even if it kills me each time. I marvel at my simple yet unquestionably valid answer. I would have been positively happy telling Harry my experiences with Roger, and if I were him, I'd rather see me happy, more than anything.

Anger bubbles up inside me again. Why didn't he tell me? Why did I have to find out this way? Was he even planning on telling me anything at all? What, was he going to leave himself that way? Let himself deteriorate? Did he even love me that much?

I find myself repeating that question over and over. Did he love me that much?

Hermione and Ron come out surprised as they step out of the portrait hole. "Diggory," Ron says, "do you need anything?"

"It's Harry," I say, still breathless from my quick walk up to Gryffindor Tower. Their eyes turn to each other with knowing looks, and I instantly get the hint that they knew about this thing with Harry and I before even I did. "He's in the Infirmary," I say, and I find my voice laced with the same guilt. The same confusion.

Their faces shift from curiosity to alarm in an instant. Not long after that, we are walking, briskly, and I'm explaining. That I cast the curse on Harry, in the hopes that the spell would tell me who Crucio'ed him, and made him write with the Blood Quill. Ron goes distraught with the mention of the Cruciatus, demanding who it was that came out of Harry's thoughts, but Hermione understands in an instant, and she's glaring at me accusingly.

"And the spells reacted badly, didn't they?" she asks, more of a statement than a question. "What happened to him?"

I tell them Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis. They look shocked, then both of their gazes turn to me, cold and set. I wince.

"I didn't know!" I say, throwing my hands up. "Nobody ever did teach me the theory behind it."

Hermione mutters from then on about brainless, irresponsible oafs, and Ron sends me looks that unnerve me, likes he's barely keeping himself from punching me. We walk in silence, my head playing back different faces of Harry, his teasing one in the Prefects' Bathroom, his face set with level-headedness at besting Malfoy, his windblown, exhilarated expression in the air during Quidditch.

We arrive at the Infirmary with my mind playing Harry's distant expression as he sets on me kissing Roger. Madam Pomfrey had just finished what must have been a round of diagnostic spells, and she was smiling.

"The potion we administered is taking effect," she says. "It's patching up the damaged part of the brain as we speak."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighs, running her hand along the hospital bed. Ron had already taken two seats from the back of the room and placed them next to Harry's bed.

"We're not leaving until he wakes up," he says, with a hint of finality that should be offensive to Madam Pomfrey. But instead, she brushes them off.

"Ah, no matter. I expect Harry to wake a little later tonight," she says. My chest is somehow rid of a heavy load. Madam Pomfrey instructs the two to feed and make Harry drink water when he wakes up, and gives them some potions for Harry to ingest along with the food, and then bustles back to the Nurse's Quarters where she says she has work to do.

In those four minutes of interaction, I've pretty much summed up the relationship between Ron, Hermione, Madam Pomfrey and Harry. "So she lets you stay each time?" I ask, to break the silence. I was standing near the foot of Harry's bed.

"He's been here so many times we joke about decorating this bed with his personals," Ron said fondly. I want to ask what caused the other visits in here, other than the ones I know, like a rogue Bludger three years ago, but Hermione interjects.

"So, you cast the spell, then? Of course it worked, seeing the state Harry's in." She looked at me distrustfully, yet in a way which suggested I'm still of some use to her. "So, who cast the Cruciatus?"

Ron, remembering his question earlier, backs the question. I stare at them, and then at Harry, and then shift my gaze towards my feet. "His current thoughts then weren't of his captor," I say, a bit rueful at not getting a name, but all at the same time, grateful, angry and confused at what I actually learned. Hermione once again picks up on the little details quickly.

"You found out, then?" she says, a bit shocked, "Of course you found out. I'm thinking, he ran into you, and you confronted him, and he refused to tell you anything so you cast the spell, and you read words that you would have rather not read."

I couldn't believe it, but she completely got it. I just nod. "What's going on?" Ron asks confusedly. "Found out what?" Hermione looks pointedly from Harry to me, and then rolls her eyes. "Oh," Ron says, and then looks back at me, with accusing eyes.

"And?"

"And, what?" I ask back.

"Well, how do you feel about it?" Ron asks slowly, like I'll run out if he dumped it all on me at once.

I glance at Harry. He was still in his school shirt, first two buttons unbuttoned at the top, and his chest was slowly heaving.

I never did stop to think how I felt about him and just him, without the complications. What did I think of him? It was just another reccurring question that I would have to mull over for a while, because for now I don't know how deep Harry feels about me. I guess he's a very good friend at this point, and he saved my life in the graveyard. He helps everyone when they ask, and doesn't ask anything in return, unless what he asks for would benefit someone else. I find myself going back to our conversations. He's kept mostly to himself all the time, and I realize how selfish I must have been, talking nonstop about myself and my day, without asking how his went. And if I ever did ask, the answers couldn't have been clear and stretched out. He always seemed to find a way to bring the conversation back to me. I know at least that much.

"I ... honestly don't know yet," I admit. "He's my friend. An invaluable one."

Hermione and Ron seem unsatisfied with my answer, and I'm left thinking if they were expecting something more. Unable to stand the silence thick as fog, I leave the Infirmary and head to Hufflepuff.

HPCD

The next day I go about my morning routine, taking a bath, brushing my teeth, setting my things for the day. I always do the last bit because I find it too bothersome and tiring to go up to my classes and down to the kitchens each time.

I was already out the portrait hole when I get a spontaneous urge to talk to Harry. He must be awake now, and no doubt must have something to say to me. I didn't want this niggling at the back of my mind for the rest of the day, so I might as well go to the Infirmary and get things over with.

I start walking upstairs, not bothering to go to breakfast since I'm not hungry. I realize that I'm a bit eager to hear what he has to say. Find out if he resents me for casting that spell, or if he doesn't want to see me or talk to me at all. I feel a brief pang of regret at using the Unthinkable Thoughts, then. I really like Harry as a friend, and I didn't want anything to change between us. All the tension aside, I think he, too, knows that we get along well together. And I think he's always trusted me before all this, and I admit that despite having everyone in this school, it was he that I chose to confide in, and he's been a perfect listener and advice giver so far.

I was almost near the Infirmary doors when a pair of warm, rough hands seize me by the waist. Soon I find myself coaxed into a shadowy alcove, and the hands turn me and a pair of lips seek my neck.

"Hey, handsome," whispers Roger, his breath ghosting under my chin. His warmth is inviting, and before long we find our tongues in each others' mouths. He runs a hand down my back while the other leans on the arch behind me. I stagger a bit as he pushes insistently, and I glance over his shoulder as he attacks my collarbone.

I freeze, feeling familiar with the position. "Is something the matter?" Roger asks, blinking up at me. He kisses my cheek and smiles.

"I ... have to go to the Infirmary," I mutter, and wrench myself from his travelling arms. "Huge headache from this morning."

I don't know why I rush, my heart flaring with hot blood, sending them to my limbs faster than usual.

And then, I reach the Infirmary, and find Hermione and Ron there, voices laden with worry as they fussed over Harry's state. Harry already had a plethora of 'I'm fine's and 'you didn't have to's firing, and for a second I think how stupid he is for thinking that these two people—whom, based on their clothes, I assume had stayed the night to be by Harry—would do otherwise. But then again, it's Harry Potter, and he's as selfless as a, well, I don't know. Something very selfless.

I step through the curtains of his hospital bed, no doubt placed there to keep people from knowing Harry was here, and make my presence known. It was Harry's eyes that go to me first. They're a brilliant shade of green this morning, clear like a forest in spring. They look at me questioningly. Hermione and Ron follow his gaze, but in an instant, I jump as Harry begins thrashing on the bed.

"Madam Pomfrey!" we all call with varying degrees of distraught and urgency. I was keeping Harry's feet from kicking everywhere, and the two had him pinned to the mattress by his shoulders.

"Make the pain stop!" he barely grits out, and from his feet I feel his body being wracked in great tremors. He was red and sweating, and his face was contorted with agony. I realize that I'd rather have the pain than he does. Where was Madam Pomfrey? Why isn't she coming?

"Go get her!" demands Ron, and I hesitate for a second, before telling myself that the sooner Madam Pomfrey could do something the better it was for Harry. I let go of his shaking legs, and he draws them up and wraps his arms around them, and I could tell every fiber of himself was trying to control what must be tremendous pain running and down his body.

I shoot out of the Infirmary curtains and run to the Nurse's Quarters, where I find Madam Pomfrey, dozing. I shake her awake, and she comes to, eyes unfocused and blinking blearily at first, but then turning their attention to me immediately. She rushes into the room before I do, knowing exactly what I came there for, but she finds Harry only taking heaving gasps of air, not thrashing around like I told her.

Hermione and Ron tell us that the tremors stopped when I left. I stare at Harry's form, twitching and jerking from time to time, as if he had been _Crucio_'ed all over again.

Madam Pomfrey starts her round of diagnostic spells, jamming vials of numbing and healing potions down Harry's throat, but then Harry seeks my eyes again, and he looks terrified, and for some inexplicable reason, worried about me, like I was the one who got hit by the Cruciatus, and then the shooting pain starts again.

"What's going on?" Hermione cries over Harry's own pained growls. She was in tears, confused and scared for Harry.

Madam Pomfrey cast a few more spells. "It's his brain—it's still riddled with spell contamination and—oh! Mr Diggory," she cries, and then glares at Ron. "Mr Weasley, get him to the other side of the curtain, please!"

Ron does just that, and I get hauled to the other bed, where an translucent curtain obscures my view of Harry, and I see his silhouette calming.

"Madam Pomfrey," Ron asks, and I've never heard his voice as low and authoritative, "what just happened?" I see Madam Pomfrey cast something, and Harry's body goes slack. She must have sedated him, and my eyebrows furrow at the curtain, confused.

"His brain—the spell contamination responds to a memory, and it seems, Mr Diggory, that you trigger it."

Ron stares at me in shock, and my vision tunnels, my throat going dry. It seems, by what Madam Pomfrey stated, that I'm causing Harry physical pain now as well.

HPCD

**Notes: Legasp! The plot thickens. By a margin, at least. More Cedric POVs to come.**


	8. Chapter 8: Do Anything But Think

**Chapter 8: Do Anything But Think**

Madam Pomfrey gives us another situation assessment. Harry has developed a brain condition which induces the Cruciatus on him whenever he sees me. I sit there, at the other side of the curtains with Ron, bewildered.

She goes through protocols, saying that the stimulant might not be exclusive to me, and Harry is to see no one but Hermione and Ron because they do not trigger the Cruciatus. Until then, she will consult with some mediwizards from St. Mungo's in the hopes of finding a cure.

The morning light shifts, casting their shadows towards the curtain. I could see Hermione's bushy hair, bent over Harry, who was sitting up, but had his head bowed. Funny how some simple silhouettes can tell you exactly what was going on. Hermione's worried for Harry, who's quite obviously upset.

"Harry," I call, and his form starts, like he's forgotten I was there, "it's going to be all right." It was hard to look at a brighter side at this point. He sits there, unmoving, until he turns his head towards me.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?" The second question's directed towards the others. Ron pats me on the back, getting off the bed and going to Harry's side of the curtain. He gives Harry a hug after Hermione does, then silently, they both go out of the Infirmary to wait outside. Madam Pomfrey had gone back into her quarters, possibly to Floo some mediwizards, leaving me in the room wth Harry. It's silent for a while, and in that span of time I was looking only at Harry's silhouette. How hard it must be for him to be told not to see anyone else.

"Harry," I call to get his attention.

"Cedric, I'm in love with you," he says so imperceptibly, it could have been the wind, and it makes my heart jump. I should have expected it. He wouldn't have let things be just the way they were, with me finding out the way I did. I stare hard at his shadow for any reaction. He continues, "and you shouldn't have found out through that stupid spell." He sounds so dejected, I balk.

"I—I know that already, Harry," I say, my voice wavering, and heat engulfing my face, "and I'm sorry I cast the spell—I shouldn't have done it, not when it was gonna lead to this—and, Merlin, Harry, I wanted to know who hurt you, because it was so frustrating that you wouldn't help me—help anyone to help you—"

Harry had buried his head in his hands and curled his knees forward, and I clamp my mouth shut. I hear him draw a shaky breath, and I could tell he was holding back a sob when he says, "Please, Cedric, get out of here."

"Harry," I say, and I almost go to his side of the curtains when Madam Pomfrey's warning hit me. He's taking it the wrong way—I could tell.

"Please leave," he says, and he doesn't move, or say anything else. A complete dismissal. My eyebrows furrow, and I grip the sheets, before launching myself off the bed, heading towards and out the doors, not pausing to say anything to Hermione and Ron who look surprised as I walked past them.

I feel myself boiling in frustration. I know what I did wrong, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. I couldn't have made it harder for Harry at that point, but I still wanted to explain myself. What irritates me is that he didn't let me speak after that. To think, he couldn't see me anymore, and now he must be thinking that I've rejected him somewhat, because I jumped to his safety rather than saying anything about what he feels ...

And then frustration of a different kind settles in, the one that makes me look like such a bad person for hurting Harry. I never meant to, but there it was. And I stormed out of that room without justifying myself to him. I'm sure that anything I do up to this point will hurt him even more. I bet he thinks that I only set his declaration aside, that it wasn't the core of the matter—that he still thinks I'm focused on whoever in this castle had the gall to curse him, that I was only worried for myself, and the repercussions of my casting that spell.

But it's not. Merlin, it's not. I couldn't tell him that confusion's tearing me apart, and that I have no clue as to what I feel about him at all—or I have so many clues that it's all jumbled in my mind and I can't fish any of it out to examine it. I need to think clearly, and right now, Harry's voice as he asked me to leave is still ringing in my ears.

Classes go by in a whir, all thoughts leading towards Harry. How he's holding up in the Infirmary. What Madam Pomfrey instructed him to do to keep safe and sane. How he told Ron and Hermione about our talk. How much he hates my guts. How much of a blessing the condition turned out to be. I find myself thinking with circling horror how he would be conditioned to associate pain with seeing me, both physically and emotionally, how that silent declaration of love for me would whittle down to nothing, or evolve into hate, loathing. How much of a loss Harry would be.

And then, I would think why Harry mattered that much to me, and that's when I'd shut off.

I run into Colin, whose eyes lock onto to me the minute I reach his sight. He's asking me questions in an instant, annoying and rather invasive ones that I had forgotten how to get used to, since Harry had done a splendid job keeping him busy and off my back. With Colin coming back full swing, I come to a conclusion as to why I hate Colin. His insistent, personal questions always hit home, the kinds that leave me thinking about them in excess, unable to really purge myself of them after they've reached my ears. How I survived the graveyard and how strong I must be for facing You-Know-Who, when it was all Harry. How my father must be proud of me for surviving the Triwizard Tournament, when really he's furious that Harry got to share the glory with me. How he's had contact with Oliver, who's enlisted as a Puddlemere United Quidditch player, and he's been trying to contact me, when I want nothing to do with him anymore.

Harry never asked personal questions, never pried, unless he thought it could help me. And he's been the reason I was Colin free for a month. Fed up with the Gryffindor, I yell at him across the Great Hall to leave me alone, causing everyone to look at me in shock, and a few Gryffindor friends of Colin to glare at me. I stride out of the room, unable to bear them.

I give Roger a fierce hug as soon as he catches me in the halls, not caring who sees. He brings me to an abandoned classroom to talk, but I don't say anything. Instead, I let him kiss me, and I hold on to him like the coward I am. Who's to say I'm not a horrible person? Ever since I met Harry, I have no doubt that I had been nothing but a nuisance, first when I asked him for favors, and then when he fell for me. Because I asked Roger out, because I was lonely, that I thought it was time to move on. And now I'm kissing Roger, and it somehow feels so fucking wrong. I push him off me, and leave the room without explaining anything to him. He's honestly not a bad person, Roger. We have a lot in common, and we never ran out of things to talk about. I guess, being in the same year and facing the same NEWT level classes made it easier for us to connect.

But Harry, his was a different matter. We're two years apart, and the only thing we have in common together is Quidditch, and even then we don't always agree. We always talk, then, and it's already been past a month since we grew close. We had nothing in common to talk about, so we talked mostly about ourselves, or rather, he listened while I rambled on. We almost always got to talking about things we would rather not talk about openly. I told him about my father's stifling expectations, and he told me about his being orphaned, and living with his horrible aunt and uncle. Not having anything in common made us face the deeper parts of reality, I guess, something Roger and I never really could breach past the niceties and snogging.

I find myself thinking, once again, what would have happened if Harry professed before Roger and I happened.

It's Charms, now, my last class of the day. After this, no doubt Hermione and Ron would be handling the DA in Harry's absence, and they would be lying about Harry's condition too, to protect him. But before I get a chance to think on that, too, Professor Flitwick kicks me out of his class for unproductivity, and that's how Professor McGonagall finds me.

"Mr Diggory," she calls, and I turn to her just as she's stopping in front of me.

"Professor," I say, "Do you need anything?" _Are you going to punish me for ruining Harry_?

"I have distressing news," she says, not skipping a beat, "the School Board of Directors has been informed of Madam Pomfrey's and my suspicion that Professor Umbridge had been torturing students during detention."

And before I know it, a nearby suit of armor gets _Reductoed_.

"Mr Diggory, I urge you to control your magic," she says, with a hint of awe in her voice. "The allegation has been brought to the Ministry as well. I have talked to Harry, who seems to have been bound against saying anything regarding the detentions. Madam Pomfrey suspects a Blood Ritual."

"Umbridge then, is to be arrested today, in a few minutes, under the charges of harming students and using the Cruciatus curse." Still, I'm unsatisfied, wanting to look for her and throw a few nasty spells at the bitch's ass before the Aurors get here, but then, I wouldn't know why Professor McGonagall is telling me all of this.

"Our crucial piece of evidence would have to be the condition Harry developed after your casting of the Unthinkable Thoughts curse. Since he suffers under the effects of Crucio because of the reaction, coupled with an inspection of Umbridge's wand, she would surely be sent to Azkaban." She draws a breath, and looks at me hard. "But for the evidence to be sound, we need a testimony from you, and the circumstances which surround your casting of the spell."

I develop a lump in my throat, and I choke. "Testimony? I have to—you need me to testify against her?" She nods.

"You, along with six other children Madam Pomfrey diagnosed with nerve damage, and a series of scars spelling out the words, 'I must not tell lies'," Professor McGonagall looks at me, like she's daring me to refuse. "Your cooperation will stop this, Mr Diggory. The Ministry has delved far too deep into Hogwarts, with those cumbersome decrees by Umbridge as High Inquisitor. The Headmaster is travelling, and would not be able to sway the Wizengamot. That means that we are in this without political power. We need to be convincing."

She gives me the time and place to go to when the Trial will proceed, and does not give me a chance to reply, hasten

ing towards the next corridor. I stand there, flummoxed, my heart beating in my chest at the thought of facing trial.

And Harry would be there. He would, no doubt, be forced to face me, as proof of his condition. Bile rises to my throat, and I force it back down. The only thing I could think of doing then was to talk to Ron and Hermione. Which means that I have to go to the DA meeting.

HPCD

The students are buzzing with chatter when I finally find the Room of Requirement. Ron was there, but Hermione wasn't. Ron's keeping control of the practices, but without Hermione, the atmosphere seems lighter and less focused.

I had the vigilance to do a barrel roll before a Bat Bogey Hex hits my face. Some students gasp.

"Ron," I say, breathless, holding my palms up towards him in protection, "I need to talk to you."

"What's there to talk about Diggory? R'you gonna make me cry, as well?" he says mockingly, a reference no doubt to my discussion with Harry this morning. His wand's at me, following my every move.

"Please," I say, throwing my wand towards him. "I need to explain myself. In private. He wouldn't want any of this public." I drop down the volume at that last statement, so that few ears would catch it.

Ron sizes me up for a moment, and then lowers his wand and grabbing mine from the floor. He walks to the far side of the Room, barking out orders in that surprisingly authoritative voice that sends students practicing spells. We can't be heard from where were from, but Ron casts a Muffliato barrier to be sure. He glares at me.

"Well?" he bellows. "You made Harry cry. Did you know that, Diggory?"

"I—yes. But you've got to know I didn't mean to. Harry's my friend." Ron glared at me again for good measure.

"He wouldn't tell us what happened. Hermione's with him now, keeping him company." It's an invitation to explain.

"He told me that he—"I choke,"—loves me."

"And?" he says, in that same tone the last time he said he to me.

"And ... I have no idea what to think." I realize that that's what I was really doing all day: thinking about what Harry's thinking, thinking about what to do. Ron, for a second, looks pityingly at me.

"You're not sure?" I nod. "So there could be something there, could it?" Ron suggested. He was twirling his wand, curiosity evident in his face.

"I told you, I don't know what to think," I say, sitting down on a leather sofa and burying my head in my hands. This is so messed up. It was rather surprising that I can't come up with anything. It makes me think that a decision other than staying friends with Harry is open. Maybe I'm not quite so adverse to the idea, but I couldn't make a decision while buried in heaps of turmoil. All I could think of is Harry's words, and his broken voice as he asked me to leave, and Roger, and this trial ...

"Oh! I came here to tell you something else—" I start, but Hermione had entered the room, and was calling attention to everyone. In the end, she's the one who explains to everyone that Umbridge would be tried for the charges Professor McGonagall mentioned, and I tell Ron that that's what I was about to tell him.

The DA's in a flurry of movement, then, either celebrating, practice duelling or playing games. The Room provides most of what they ask, and the mood of the Room turns festive.

In a corner, Hermione prods me with the same questions, and I honestly answer them. I ask about Harry, and how he took the news of the trial. She says that he mostly got angry that other students were getting tortured and relieved that Umbridge would finally be put to her place.

"He also asked if he could testify alone," Hermione says, looking at me in the same pitying way Ron did a while ago.

"Oh," I say.

"Yes, but Professor McGonagall said we need all the testimonies we could provide." I sigh.

"He hates me, doesn't he?" I already saw it coming. And in a few weeks, we'd become strangers to each other like we were back before we got to talk.

"He doesn't hate you," she says, and I'm surprised to note its reassuring tone. "How could he hate you? He just doesn't want to see you. You're exhausting, he says."

"Exhausting," I say, mimicking her. "But I want to see him."

"Well, you can't," Ron says, not in an indignantly satisfied way. "Madam Pomfrey made sure you two don't see each other."

But that already gave me an idea. I rush out to the Owlery after DA's done, and fetch Brutus, my owl. He chirps at me excitedly, and I smooth his feathers back, running back to the castle and then down to the kitchens. In my room in Hufflepuff, I quickly fish out an inkwell and a quill, and scribble a hasty note on parchment.

_Harry,_

Please right back. I want to talk to you.

_Cedric_

I tie it to Brutus' leg and send him flying through my fireless fireplace and up the chimney, with specific orders to bring it to the Infirmary, to the occupant of the second to the last bed from the door.

HPCD

**Notes:** Review!


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